A Potter's Story
by sovinnai
Summary: Sometimes, the humblest of men can set the world a reeling, set the games of the powerful to naught. This is the story of the rise of the Potter family and the beginning of the decline of the Blacks. A tale of the Goblin Rebellions.
1. Introduction

_The wizarding world is a dangerous one, my friends. The forests and hidden vales of wizarding kind hide monstrous creatures, well fit to rip you to shreds or even steal your very soul. Even the skies hold dangers for those who can see them, proud dragons and scavenging wyverns, as do the deep seas. The dangers of the wild, however, even the wizarding wild, are nothing to those in the centers of wizarding power, in the hidden towns and villages, in the government of the wizarding world, and in those sprawling estates of the richest wizards. There the dangers are more subtle, yet far worse in many ways. The hidden pitfalls and traps of the corridors of wizarding power have caught many unwary fools to their sore regret._

_However, sometimes, my dear reader, sometimes the humblest of men can send the world a reeling, set the subtle traps and sly plans of the powerful to naught, and make changes that will withstand the ravages of both time and enemies. Remember, only the soul matters in the end. The vaunted pure blood and rarified manners of the high classes did not save their power, and nor did the cruelty, ruthlessness and riches of the goblins grant them eventual victory. No, in the end the only thing you can truly rely upon is the wand in your hand, the man at your side and at your back, and your family._

_This story is both promise and warning. It is a promise to the downtrodden and broken. Your time will always come. It may not come in your own lifetime, nor that of your children, or your children's children, but it will come in the end. Trust in the great leveler, time, and in the strength of your arms and your wand. You will triumph someday. _

_It is also a warning to the powerful, the greedy, the oppressor, that one day a reckoning will come. You will pay for your greed and tyranny, your cruelty and ruthlessness. Rest assured, you will pay. Schemes and plans cannot overcome the power of the oppressed and the anger of the righteous._

_Now, my dear beloved readers, I am sure you will wish to know what story it is that I speak of that is so riveting and so important that I wish you to read my own poor retelling of it. To answer that most pertinent question, I must delay your gratification but a moment and explain some history, knowledge that is essential to your understanding of the tale to follow._

_As I'm sure my erudite reader must know, in 1215, King John, to protect the wizarding world of which his nephew was a part, forced the Statute of Secrecy through Parliament. In return for their compliance in the act, he agreed to sign the Magna Carta._

_At that time, most muggleborn witches and wizards either concealed their talents or worked as the bog witches and petty healers in the countryside and moors of the British Isles. Very few muggleborns started families, or even survived persecution very long, although some few families such as the Weasleys were exceptions. These bog witches and wizards, however, only existed on the very outskirts of the wizarding world, and few paid them much attention._

_The real powers in the wizarding world, from then until the time of this story, were the pureblooded aristocratic families, especially the Black family, descended directly from the King's nephew Leo. Besides the Black family, historically Slytherin, there were three other High Houses, each associated with one of the Hogwarts Houses. The house associated with Hufflepuff was the Bones family, though it had been reduced to dire straits long before the other three, and before the time of this story in the mid-15__th__ century. With Ravenclaw was High House Ravencroft, said to be descended from Rowena Ravenclaw herself. The Porpington family, of whom Gryffindor's own Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, otherwise known as Nearly Headless Nick, was a member, was historically associated with the house of Godric Gryffindor._

_The real hero of this story, however, did not arise from any of the High Houses, nor yet from the many smaller noble families flocking around them. No, the true hero of this story, though of course there were others, was a muggleborn wizard, born to simple potters in a small village in England and bearing the name of his profession. This, then is the foundation of the famous Potter family, which so often played heroic roles in wizarding history, and whose fortunes were inextricably linked to that of Wizarding Britain._

_Therefore, the reason I have chosen to recount this story is that it shows the power of the simplest of people, and the power that love has to end tyranny and right injustice. In these dark times, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named exerting power over innocents and the powerless, I believe we can all use a reminder of the light that always burns through the darkness._

_Now, enough of the history lesson, and on with the story. I hope you enjoy._

Albus Dumbledore, 1979


	2. Schemes and Plots

**I'm sorry for the delay after the introduction. I had written the introduction, this chapter and part of the next already, but I had to type it up, and with all of the things I have to do, it took longer than I expected. **

**I'm also sorry it's short, but it is only my second fanfiction piece, and my first actual story.**

**I hope you like it. If you think there's anything I could improve upon, don't hesitate to tell me.**

**Oh, and the Potter's don't really figure in the story until about a quarter of the way through. Most of the beginning is the scheming and fighting among the purebloods. Nearly Headless Nick is in the next chapter, and he's not nearly headless.**

**Eclectic Me: Thanks, I appreciate it. I would write the whole thing in that sort of 19****th**** century style of writing, but I figure it would get boring real fast. I've always liked the more historical part of stories, and I figure that a story set far in the past would have fewer constrictions than one set in the time of J.K. Rowling's actual story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that J.K. Rowling has written or mentioned or even thought of. Period, full stop.**

Baron Cygnus Orion Black, the head of High House Black and owner of a dozen properties and scores of house elves, was not a patient man. By nature and by nurture, he was accustomed to get whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without delay. Thus, when he strode arrogantly into the Great Hall of Malfoy, Manor, his long green and silver robes proclaiming his allegiance proudly, the castellan ushered him without question to Henri Malfoy's sitting room.

"Baron Black, Lord of High House Black!" he announced loudly before allowing the Baron into the room. He may have wished dearly to get this important personage to his destination as fast as possible, but he had no desire to be punished by the famously short-tempered Baron for not following the correct forms.

Inside, a young, at least relative to most nobles in his position, man with pale skin and blond hair tied back in a ponytail looked up. His eyes sharpened in surmise at the sight of the Baron, though he was careful to hide his calculation of motive, profit and costs as he pondered the reasons for this sudden visit. He thought he knew why the Baron was here, but he hoped this was one of the rare occasions when he was wrong.

"Bonjour, my Lord. This is a pleasant surprise, indeed. I'm sorry I did not know that you were coming or I would have had my servants prepare you something to eat or drink." The Malfoy's aristocratic drawl, as arrogant as any heard in the fine manors of the pureblood families of Britain, disguised the faint accent of his native France.

The Baron wasted no time and, blunt as only the most powerful can be, responded sharply. "Malfoy, I'm in no mood for trivialities." He slammed his hand hard on the fine oak desk in front of Henri. "The situation is getting out of hand and your incompetence is not helping matter in the least. If, of course, it is just incompetence and not a desire to back out of your agreement…" His eyes narrowed dangerously at the last as he tried to stare down the French noble.

Henri was slightly surprised at the Baron's tone. Most native nobles would have reached for their wand the moment the Baron addressed them by their lone surname without title and belittled their offer of refreshments, more when he accused them of incompetence, and the rest when he accused them of being dishonorable. Of course, Henri had never put much stock into affairs of honor and the sort.

Still, he was left wondering why one of the three most powerful men in the wizarding world had come to his home and decided to insult him. Was it the Baron merely being oblivious to his own insults? Or was it the Baron's knowledge that Henri himself would not react? Or, more disturbingly, could it be that the Baron had decided to purposely provoke him? That would require some further thought, as it could demonstrate that the Baron had more knowledge of Henri's activities than he should.

Fortunately, of course, Henri was a Malfoy, and the Malfoys had long since learned to eschew that curious mentality, honor. In fact, an affair of honor had first given the Malfoys their name, 'bad faith,' centuries earlier. Therefore, he kept his carefully cultivated calm and leant back in his armchair, careful to toe the line between composure and outright insolence.

"Incompetence, My Lord? What have I done to offend Your Grace? Tell me, and I shall have it corrected immediately. If it is the fault of anyone in my employ, I will be sure to dismiss him at once." Henri purposely lengthened his drawl and took a sip of his tea to demonstrate his unruffled countenance.

Baron Black, his hands still on Henri's desk, leant forward and growled. "Do not mock me, Malfoy." His tone was low and dangerous. "Your niece is to marry my son. Your brother agreed to the betrothal and as his daughter's guardian and head of the Malfoy family, you must fulfill our contract."

Henri was careful to keep his voice mild. "My Lord, have I given any indication I will not fulfill the agreement? My brother gave his word, and Malfoys are men of honor."

Black, still leaning threateningly forward, stared at Henri. "You have delayed the marriage contract over four years past when it should have taken affect. If you do not cease obstructing our agreement, I will take back the position I offered your nephew in exchange for your niece's marriage."

Henri almost laughed in relief, though he refrained from doing so. Black was just mad about the delay of the contract? That was good, since it meant he obviously did not know of the other preparations the Malfoys were making at the time.

"The Malfoys' affairs were sadly mangled at the time of my brother's death. It has taken nearly 17 years merely to sort out all of my brother's papers, much less fix them. I have been working on fixing the problems in the marriage contract caused by my brother's death for nearly three years now, since we found the contract. Rest assured, my Lord, my niece will fulfill the contract."

Baron Black stared into Henri's eyes and Henri could feel the intrusion of an attempt at Legilimency. It was all Henri could do to not sneer at the Baron. The country nobles of this miserable nation had no skill at all compared to the accomplished Legilimens of Henri's native France. Henri easily repulsed the brute force attempt to break into his mind, and then carefully directed the Baron's probe into some well-chosen memories, leaving the Baron unsuspecting.

When the Baron looked away, a satisfied look on his face, Henri felt a surge of satisfaction. A real Legilimens would have known at once he was being fooled, but this buffoon believed the truth of the fake memories Henri had purposely shown him, memories of Henri directing his vassals and servants to research marriage contracts, of Henri working on fixing the problems in the magical document caused by the death of its originator. Of course it wouldn't do to underestimate the old man. As blunt as he was, which felt quite odd compared to the subtle maneuverings Henri was accustomed to, Cygnus Black was an accomplished dueler, both with wands and with the more subtle words and patronships of the halls of the Ministry.

Still, this country was quite backwards compared to France, especially when it came to Dark Magic, and Henri was well satisfied with that fact. The maneuver Henri was to attempt would be entirely impossible in his native country. Here, though, he gave it roughly even chances, especially with opponents such as Black, arrogant and satisfied in his own inherited power.

Seemingly placated by his probe into Henri's mind, the Baron left after a few pleasantries, although of course pleasantries from the Baron were never particularly pleasant, Henri reflected. After Black's exit, Henri leaned back further in his comfortable armchair and let himself relax for a short while. He pulled his wand out of its holster under his arm and summoned a glass and a bottle of bourbon from a cabinet, pouring himself a small glass.

The French noble allowed himself to lower his guards for a few moments and think on the conversation. Sipping his bourbon slowly, he decided that the Baron did not suspect anything yet. He may have stumbled on an outward detail, but it was too late to be able to react to Henri's move. Fortunately, the one thing Black would be able to affect would soon be out of his reach. He sat in his chair for a few more minutes, just relaxing, before calling for his castellan.

"Yes, my Lord?" The castellan, a stooped old man of around seventy years of age, seemed to appear out of nowhere. He had served both Henri's father and his older brother faithfully for many years, and upon Simone's death and the transferal of the Malfoy title to Henri now served him. Of course, with four house elves in the manor, he had few actual duties besides acting as a minister of ceremonies.

"Bring Cassiopeia to me, Francis."

"Of course, my Lord." The old man bowed and left the room as silently as a ghost.

While he waited for Francis to bring his niece to his sitting room, Henri pondered his next move. He would have to move soon, as although the Baron had not yet noticed the whole plan, he surely would begin to notice some of his preparations before too long. Too many of the preparations had to have been made before hand, and they would be noticeable over time. Henri decided the first thing he must do would be to distract Black's attention from his real plan. With that in mind, he decided that he would tell his son to try to convince the younger Black that the Malfoys would decide to attack the Porpingtons. As there was a Porpington and two Porpington vassals at Hogwarts at the time along with Charles, it should not be too difficult to do so. A few chance remarks and perhaps a few bullying attempts would be sure to convince the dull-witted idiots of that, Henri was sure.

In the meantime, he had to deal with the matter of his niece. Francis opened the door after a few minutes and admitted Cassiopeia and her personal wandsman. Tall, with the aristocratic stride and blond hair of the Malfoys, she made no attempt to hide her exalted lineage. Behind her walked her wandsman, her ever-present shadow since birth. In most noble families bringing a wandsman to a private meeting would have been a calculated insult, showing lack of trust in the Head of the House and it would have been punished. For the Malfoys, however, it was expected that a wandsman would accompany his charge at all times.

Henri felt a slight pain in his chest as he saw the stocky figure of his niece's wandsman and his thoughts wen to his own, killed in France three years before. In many ways a Malfoy's personal wandsman was more of a father than their own birth father. They were present for their first steps, their first words, and their first accidental magic. They taught the Malfoy how to ride a horse and a thestral, how to read, how to duel, both with wands and Muggle swords, and even of the proper conduct expected of a son or daughter of the Malfoys. A wandsman was expected to give his life for his charge's without a second's thought, as Henri's own had done, and as countless others had done throughout long centuries of Malfoy history. This was a tradition that had endured from the days when the Malfoys were of the Muggle nobility, proudly bearing the name deTours. But the Malfoys were far from those days, and now they were to make their mark on a new home, Wizarding Britain.

Cassiopeia Malfoy spoke, her voice steady. "You called for me, my Lord?"

Henri nearly smiled at this. The girl was a Malfoy through and through, that was certain. Despite her knowledge that Henri would determine her future, likely at this very meeting, she displayed no emotions. She sounded as if her were calling her in to congratulate her for fulfilling one of her wandsman's test well, rather than to hand her off in marriage. Of course, Henri had no intention of handing her off in marriage just yet, and certainly not to a Black, but she could not know that.

"Yes Cassiopeia, I did. Please sit down." He gestured to the high backed chair facing his own oak desk, in which she sat gracefully. "Now, as you know, your father agreed to an arranged marriage for you to the Black family."

"Yes, Uncle. It was to take effect upon my coming of age, at seventeen."

"That is correct. When your father died, the spellwork of the contract became out of order and you were unable to marry Baron Black's son when originally intended." Henri could see his niece's brow furrow at this. Good, she was sharp. His plan would not succeed if his niece did not fully understand her part in it. "You may speak, Cassiopeia."

"Uncle, my father died when I was only five. I would have thought that the Malfoy family employed enough Ministry officials to clear up the paperwork in some time less than fifteen years."

Henri could see that his niece had some suspicions as to why exactly the paperwork had not been righted, but she kept those thoughts to herself. Good again. His plan for her was looking more and more promising.

"Correct again, Cassiopeia. However, it seems that the marriage contract was misplaced, and was only re-found three years ago." Cassiopeia's eyes sharpened at that. Quite a coincidence, wasn't it, lass? Henri smirked in the privacy of his own mind.

"I see, my lord. Has the paperwork been righted now?"

"It shall be very shortly. That is the reason I have called you to my presence today. You shall be given to young Orion Black in three months. I would like you to be ready for that day."

Henri could tell his niece was thinking hard. There was no real reason to call her to his office just to tell her that. He could have easily relayed that information to her through a house elf, and that would probably have been what he would have done in other circumstances. Then, of course, were his hints that the marriage had been delayed, probably on purpose.

Cassiopeia managed to keep almost all trace of these thoughts from her voice as she replied. "Yes, Uncle. I will be sure to prepare myself properly."

Henri decided to confirm her suspicions, in a roundabout way, of course. "Baron Black was just here to finalize matters. I'm sure he would be most angered if his son was disappointed. Be sure to keep that in mind, Cassiopeia."

Cassiopeia was obviously thinking furiously. Henri studied his niece for a moment, and, deciding that she had reached the right conclusions, dismissed her. As she left, Henri beckoned her wandsman to him for a few words.

"Your charge is very smart. You have done a good job, my man."

The roughhewn man, a Malfoy liegeman from one of the wilder parts of the British Isles, beamed at the compliment. "Thank you, milord. Cassie's a sharp one, she is, make no mistake. She never has to be told anything twice."

"I can tell. Make sure you take good care of her."

"Of course, my Lord!" The wandsman looked appalled at the suggestion that he would do anything less. "Cassie's safe with me. I'll jump in front of a curse for her any day, never you fret, Your Grace."

Henri's lips twitched slightly upwards, his amusement at being told not to fret by a mere wandsman overcoming his annoyance at the wrong form of address.

"Very well, my man. You may go."

After the wandsman walked out of the door, Henri sat back in his chair, well-satisfied with the way things were going. At the moment it seemed that all of his plans were working quite well.

He set to writing his son, with instructions on misleading the Blacks about the Malfoy's real targets. He had no way to know that this decision would have such far reaching consequences, and he did not think much on it at all. After he had placed the instructions on the letter, with a dozen charms and 3 different codes to ensure no unwanted intruder reading his correspondence, he began to write a cover letter, asking about Hogwarts, and all of the things that his son was getting up to in school.

At the moment, he felt that things could not be better. Of course he was wrong, as most people are when they tempt fate in such a way, but he could have no way to know that. At the moment, he felt in control, but in fact control was already slipping out of his hands, sending the Wizarding world over the precipice into civil war and rebellion. His plans would be the spark, but another manipulator would provide the kindling, and it would be but a short time before the blaze set to roaring.


	3. A Porpington's Worries

**And here is the second chapter. Nearly Headless Nick is not nearly so nearly headless, is he? Sorry, couldn't resist.**

**Please Read and Review**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, of J.K. Rowling's. I promise. In fact, I make my Wizard's Oath on it.**

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington sat quietly in his study, worrying. Although the scarlet and gold curtains and the majestic lion in his portrait normally reassured the Head of Porpington greatly, now they just served to depress him further. The lion, sensing Nicholas' discomfort, roared loudly, disapproving of his obvious worry. The sound issuing from the portrait, loud, full and rich, just seemed hollow to Nicholas' ears today.

Before him on his desk lay two letters. One, three feet of parchment written in a very messy hand lay besides an envelope bearing the rampant lion of the Porpingtons and the proud hippogriff of the Mims. It was crinkled and worn, having been read many times through. Next to that letter lay the other, over twelve feet of parchment written in a cramped yet extremely neat hand, though not all elegant. Unlike the other, this bore no seal, and had only been read once or twice.

Sir Nicholas, with the air of one who had done so too many times in the past hour, reached down to reread the first parchment yet again. It read:

_Dear Father,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and mum and Benjie also. Things are satisfactory at school right now, and there is little of interest to report. Although, I scored thirteen times in the last Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, dad! I mean, father, I have the honor to report my success at the last Quidditch match against our rival house. We won even though that prat Black…I mean my respected rival Mr. Black…put a nasty foul on our keeper. Don't tell mum I called him that, please father. Anyway, Black was…_

Sir Nicholas smiled weakly at his son's constant shift between formality and informality. His wife Jennifer and he always tried to get Jonathon to be more formal, yet it never seemed to stick. Jonathon would write a well formed, respectable sentence, but then ruin it by sticking in something inappropriate or having the next sentence to be completely informal. He just seemed completely impossible to convince to be actually formal.

Nicholas skimmed the next foot and a half of parchment, which mainly consisted of details on Jon's classes and some girls he liked, and other trivialities. He stopped when he got to the part of Jonathon's letter which he found unpleasantly suspicious. Jon apparently hadn't though much on it, but he included it in his letter anyway, which Sir Nicholas was very relieved to know.

…_Oh yeah, and as I'm talking about slimy gits…I mean, as I'm talking about members of the fine house of Slytherin…little Malfoy has been acting odd recently. Normally he doesn't much bother anyone, since he seems to lack the courage of a fine Gryffindor like myself, but recently he's been acting differently. For the past three days, Malfoy has been provoking me and Emilie Greene a lot. But, the weird bit is that he only does it when Black is nearby. I am uncertain as to why Mr. Malfoy would…ah, screw it. Tell mum I don't care if she wants me to act all formal to show her friends how educated and proper I am. I'm not going to be all proper in letters anymore, it's just boring._

Sir Nicholas' face softened a bit into a slight smile again. Jonathon always ended up writing that in each letter, but he always tried to be formal in the next letter after Jennifer sent a scolding letter. She was sure that Jonathon would become formal enough to pass as a true Porpington by his graduation next year, while Sir Nicholas always responded by saying that a _true_ Porpington would swear every other sentence, as the Porpingtons were originally French sailors. Then he would say that Jon probably would not be formal enough for her until he settled down with a nice, proper, young witch.

Nicholas' face settled back to a more serious expression as he turned back to his son's letter.

_Anyway, I'm not sure what it means, but I thought I'd let you know. I'm not worried about me, but I am about Emilie. She is a witch and our vassal, so I'm supposed to be able to protect her, but Malfoy's really sneaky all the time. Anyway, I just want to know what you think and what I should do about the little slimy git. All those stinking snakes are always sneaking around, and it really gets on my nerve. Could I hex Malfoy, just a bit, dad? Please? _

_Well, back to more cheerful matters. Emilie's doing pretty well, and so is little Charlie Fuller. Actually, Charlie even hexed a third year snake for … _

Sir Nicholas put the letter back down, having read the most important part yet again. So the young Malfoy heir was going after the Porpingtons, was he? That, although the fact that it was a new thing was slightly surprising, wasn't terribly worrisome. The more suspicious part was that he seemed to only be doing so when Black was nearby. Of course, it was possible that he was just trying to impress the older wizard and get in favor with him, but Nicholas doubted it. For one thing, the Malfoys were well known for trading favors with powerful families, but he'd never heard of one stooping so low as to try to get patronship by bullying people, especially those who they considered beneath them. The Malfoys, for all their professed abhorrence of affairs of honor, were far too prideful to do so.

For another thing, Nicholas, working as he did in the Office of Magical Oaths and Contracts, knew that the elder Malfoy had renewed some paperwork for his niece's marriage to the younger Black, the same one that Jonathon had mentioned in the letter. The younger Malfoy would never do anything that could have political ramifications as this act would without orders from his father. Making enemies with the Porpingtons, especially since the Malfoys would have an alliance with the Blacks by marriage anyway, was not something that the Malfoy would do without reason.

For that matter, the marriage contract itself was slightly suspicious as well. Nicholas well remembered when it had been creatively lost and misfiled upon the death of the first Malfoy lord. The fact that the man who had first 'accidentally' had the contract misplaced, the younger brother of that lord, was now activating it was surprising. Nobody could ever know what went on in the mind of a Malfoy, but it was surely never good. In fact, Nicholas thought with a slight snort, Jonathon's opinion that "_snakes are always sneaking around and it really gets on my nerves_," was pretty close to his own.

The lord of the Porpingtons easily decided that the Malfoy's actions were neither simple coincidence nor the result of being pressured by the Baron Black. With the Malfoys, coincidence was highly unlikely, to say the least. In fact, Sir Nicholas felt sure that if coincidence ever reared its ugly head near any Malfoy, the Malfoy would probably think up a scheme in hindsight just to ensure that coincidence never played any part in their affairs. Nicholas was also fairly certain that Baron Black would find it very difficult to force the Malfoys to do anything, and even if he did it would either be part of a Malfoy scheme or quickly made into one.

No, the Malfoys, being the sneaky scheming and plotting snakes that they were, were surely using both the marriage contract with the Blacks and the younger Malfoy's behavior in some sort of larger plan. This worried the Porpington immensely. The Malfoys' schemes rarely affected him and his family and vassals, as the plots were normally directed against lesser houses, ones which could not retaliate effectively. If the Malfoys had decided to direct their aim at the Porpington, then they surely had a plan, one which they felt was fool proof. Nicholas read again the line of his son's letter which seemed to indicate part of their plan. "_He only does it when Black is nearby."_ From this fact, it seemed likely that the Malfoys were planning to convince the Blacks to attack the Porpingtons with them.

A very important question in all of this was why the Malfoys had decided to act against the Porpingtons now. No doubt they felt it would aid their family's position in some way or another to get the Gryffindor House out of their way. Could they be trying to take the Porpingtons' position as a High House? No, that was too ambitious even for a Malfoy. They would never be able to hold the High Seat, especially not a Seat taken from a Gryffindor House by force. Perhaps he was trying to take Nicholas' position as governor on the board of Hogwarts. Influencing the education system in the school would surely be a scheme that Malfoy would feel well worth the effort and risk. If he pulled it off, it would be sure to yield great dividends in the future.

Likely the Malfoys would stop short of trying to destroy the High House completely, even if they had the ability to do so. Probably they would just ask for concessions, such as the governorship on the Board or perhaps a few Porpington properties. Fortunately, however, Sir Nicholas had no intention of giving the Malfoys any concessions at all, or to even find it necessary in the first place.

His conclusions on the Malfoys plans were further reinforced by the information on the second letter he had received that day. When he had first read it, his instincts were to distrust its senders. First and foremost, they were goblins, creatures well known for their lying and cheating to achieve their goals. He was forced to trust them to some extent to protect his riches in their hidden safes, but he had no intention of trusting them any farther than that. But the letter also had no real proof of its insinuations, and without other evidence, what it was accusing seemed ridiculous. The evidence it did have pointed more to a Malfoy attack on the Blacks, not the Porpingtons.

However, with the letter he had just received from his son, the goblins' information seemed more likely to be true. Either letter by itself would not have been enough to convince him, but the two together was quite compelling evidence. He did wonder a few moments why exactly the goblins had decided to send him a warning, but had decided that it didn't matter. They probably had some manipulation or other in mind, a favor he would have to give to them in return perhaps, but that did not make the information they had sent him any less true. He'd gladly fulfill nearly any request they made to him for the information which would probably allow him to stave off the attack by the Malfoys and the Blacks.

He skimmed the larger parchment again, thinking of possible counter moves to anything Malfoy may try. Hmm…two of Malfoy's vassals had been collecting thestrals and moving them to the Greengrass Estate. That was rather near one of Black's properties. If he had received that information without the independent confirmation of Malfoy's intentions, Sir Nicholas surely would have assumed that the Malfoy attack would be targeted at the Blacks. No doubt that had been their intention, to mislead him into disregarding the Malfoy muster. However, with the knowledge he now had that the Malfoys were going to target the Porpingtons, Sir Nicholas felt it likely that the Malfoy raiding party would go to the Black's Raingenhead Manor and get reinforcements before attacking the Fuller Estate, only a few miles from the Black property.

Well, an easy counter appeared to the Porpington lord. He would inform the Fullers to temporarily evacuate from their estate, perhaps bringing them into Porpington House itself, along with some other vassals who may have been targeted, such as the Greenes. Then, he would set an ambush party, ready to strike back at the attackers. In fact, Sir Nicholas decided he would send his ambush party to Raingenhead Manor itself and ambush the Malfoys alone before they got their reinforcements from the Blacks. The stakeout would probably last a long time, as he had received no information from the goblins as to the timing of the raid, though it did seem that it would take at least a few weeks before the thestrals were all in place.

That time could be put to good use in preparing for the raid, though Sir Nicholas would tell the Fullers to evacuate immediately just in case. Yes, the Porpingtons would not allow themselves to be taken unaware by those back-stabbing Slytherins, let there be no doubt about it.

With that in mind, Sir Nicholas called for his house elf.

"Yes master?" squeaked a slightly plump female house elf. "Master is needing Flinky? Should Flinky fetch master some food?"

Sir Nicholas smiled fondly at the little house elf. Flinky was his favorite house elf, there was no denying it. As a child, he had always been brought extra food by Flinky, even when he was supposed to be being punished by his mother. Some noble families (the Blacks came to mind) treated their house elves like dirt beneath their feet, but the Porpingtons would never stand to such treatment. Although the Porpingtons of course did not treat the house elves as equal to wizards, they were still given honored treatment as the faithful and beloved servants they were. Thus, the house elves who served the High House Porpington were happier and more confident that those of many other wizarding families, as well as more comfortable physically and mentally. If anyone could doubt that they must only look at Flinky's plump and smiling face tor realize the truth.

Of course, the Porpingtons did not encourage such radical and insane ideas in their house elves like the Bones had done, or the Longbottoms still did. From the Bones, it was understandable, as they had been mere bog witches and wizards before becoming a High House, and thus were entitled to strange and misplaced ideals. And now that they were no longer powerful, it did not seem right to malign the memory of their treatment of house elves, as they no longer had the wherewithal to possess any. But the Longbottoms…they were among the most ancient of families, descending from the Ancient Romans themselves. How they somehow managed to convince themselves that house elves were completely equal to wizards, despite the indisputable facts that they were not, was beyond Sir Nicholas. Of course, all of those Hufflepuffs were odd, so he should not be surprised at their wayward thoughts.

The Head of Porpington House shook of those thoughts and smiled at Flinky, much in the manner one would smile at a favored owl or toad. "No thank you, Flinky. I would like you to ask Sir Greene, Lord Fuller, Mr. Bell, Sir Bagman, Sir Creevey and Captain Lupin to come to Porpington House. I will meet them in the Blue Sitting Room."

"Yes, master. Flinky will do as master wishes at once, sir."

The house elf vanished with a slight pop, leaving Sir Nicholas alone in the sitting room with only his thoughts and the lion for company. The rivalry between the Houses had been getting worse for years, but this was only the second times things looked to be getting so bad as to come to open battle between the Houses. The last time things had gotten so bad, the Bones family had been left with no money, only one heir, no vassals and but a fraction of their power. This time, Sir Nicholas would ensure that it would not be the Porpingtons who were broken.

Across his desk above the crackling fire, the lion roared reproachfully at him. Sir Nicholas looked up and smiled slightly.

"Ah yes, of course. I'm sorry my old friend, for not being myself."

The lion roared again, and looked to the door significantly.

"Yes, yes, Leo, I'm on my way. I'll see you in the Blue Room."

At this, Sir Nicholas stood and walked through the door, while behind him the lion vanished into his portrait, headed for the identical portrait in the Blue Sitting Room, just like the ones in each of the major rooms in Porpington House.

As he walked, he could hear Leo roaring faintly, urging him to hurry. As Sir Nicholas walked past Entrance Hall, Leo having turned around and come back growling at him, the Porpington lord heard a slight laugh from behind him. He turned around and saw another man step out of the fireplace. The man's broad shoulders and thick legs proclaimed his strength, just as his clothing proclaimed his wealth and his allegiance. His golden robes were covered in black soot, but when he wiped his hands down the front of the robe, the soot came off easily, revealing stood a small black horse on the front of his robes, pawing at the ground beside an anvil and a hammer

"Well, well, well, Sir Nicholas. Still henpecked by old Leo, I see. Do you think you two will settle down together any time soon, or will you continue living in sin with the old lion?"

Sir Nicholas, his spirits lightened by the presence of his old friend, smiled back. "I'm sure Jennifer would murder me if I decided to marry Leo, though no doubt she would be happy to marry that blasted hippogriff that always follows her around. It's too bad she didn't have any brothers, or I wouldn't have to carry around a name that's so long I have to carry it on my back."

"Ah, well, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," the newcomer purposely emphasized the length of the name, "at least now your second son will inherit as well, instead of just Jonathon."

"True, very true. By the way, my Lord Fuller, I understand from Jonathon that your son has been getting into some trouble at school. Something about hexing an older student?"

Lord Fuller laughed, as the horse on his robes neighed loudly together with him. Sir Nicholas reflected that they sounded incredibly similar, the horse's neigh and Lord Fuller's laugh. He idly wondered if he sounded like Leo just as much. It seemed probable.

"Yes indeed, Nicholas. Charlie hexed some third year who insulted Emilie. I am quite proud of the lad."

The fireplace flared again, and another man stepped out, this one thinner than either of the other two, and wearing a scarlet robe with a falcon on it, constantly swooping down and then pulling up just short of the robe's golden belt.

"Did you say something about someone insulting Emilie?" The man asked, frowning slightly.

Sir Nicholas replied, "Yes, Sir Greene, apparently a third year Slytherin insulted. Emilie. Charlie Fuller decided to punish the boy, and hexed him somehow. Jonathon didn't tell me what he did."

Sir Greene, his face clearing, let out a slight chuckle. "Ah, yes. I heard from Emilie about that. She seemed a little distraught about it. I think she feared that Charlie would be attacked back for defending her. I sent a letter back saying that I'm sure Charlie wouldn't mind in the least."

Lord Fuller chuckled again, and even that slight gesture of happiness seemed to fill the room. "As if Charlie wouldn't jump in front of a curse for any witch without remorse, especially a fellow vassal of the Porpingtons. I raised my boy better than that. "

Leo roared loudly at the small group standing around the Entrance Hall, reminding them to walk to the Blue Room.

"Very well, Leo, we're going." Sir Nicholas turned to his friends and vassals. "I think he's fed up with waiting for us."

Lord Fuller smiled at the Porpington Lord. "So, when did you say the wedding would be?"

"Ha, very funny Frederick. Now, shall we go?"

The trio walked to the Blue Sitting Room, where they found the others Sir Nicholas had summoned already waiting for them. They exchanged greetings, and Lord Fuller and Sir Greene sat down facing Sir Nicholas.

Sir Nicholas, the levity of earlier forgotten, sat in the chair at the far end of the room, facing all of his vassals. His face grew stern as he began. "Well, today I received two letters which contained items of concern to me. The first was from my son, which included the information that the heir of the Malfoys was getting into some mischief, which he was careful to do only around the young Black. The second was from the goblins…"

The Head of House Porpington continued with his explanations, and the mood in the room grew dark as the men in it realized the gravity of the situation. If House Black attacked them with all his vassals along with the Malfoys with their well-known tendency to the Dark Arts, House Porpington would be lucky to survive. The men in the room, the foremost men of Gryffindor house, began planning ways to protect themselves and their children.

What they did not know, however, and had no way of knowing, was that their caution was directed in the wrong direction. In fact, their solution to the problem, while in any other situation a particularly effective one, would cause great grief to them, their opponents, and the entire wizarding world. A group sat on the sidelines, unknown to the wizards in the room, but ready to ensure their own power when the inevitable civil war began. There was nothing anyone present could do to prevent it, but their own struggles to hold their own only made their troubles worse. In the end, only someone completely outside the situation could do anything, and it would be some time before that help was available. As the children of Godric Gryffindor, children in spirit though not of body, sought to defend themselves, so did the children of the other three founders, as well as those outside of the system, and those forces would soon come together in an almighty clash.


	4. Lycanthropy

**And here is the third chapter. I felt it was time for a slight change in scenery, from the pureblooded aristocrats to the scum of the Wizarding World. They will play a part in the future as well, however, and one just as big as that of the Blacks, Malfoys and Porpingtons of the world.**

**Please read and review. I really want feedback, any feedback at all. If you think I used the wrong word in the middle of a random paragraph, don't hesitate to tell me. Unless I get criticism, I won't be able to improve my writing at all. So please do criticize, I'd love you to. Thanks.**

**Incidentally, I'll tell you now that the opening of this chapter was inspired by Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series, and the werewolves' plan came from a fan-fiction I read a little while ago, the Blacks: Winds of Change by Maud Greyluck. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing J.K. Rowling has ever written, thought of, touched, smelled, seen, or any other sense or action. If I do, tell me and I'll sell it on e-bay.**

In the dark and lonely moors of the North, a wind blew. It brushed against branches, rustled leaves, and left a chill deep in the bones of anyone touched by it. The whispering wind traveled across the wild bogs and the sickly forests, an unstoppable force. The inhabitants of those lonely lands barred their doors and planked their windows in a vain attempt to ward of that cold wind.

The wind continued on, wailing against the night. Finally, it brushed against a shield of sorts, invisible to the unaided eye, which it could not pierce. This shield kept the wind out, leaving a pocket of warmth and cheer in the center of the cold dark moors. Appalled by the effrontery of anything daring to resist its power, the wind shrieked louder, striving in vain to breach the barriers around that happy dwelling place of the Weasleys.

The wind tried and tried, but it could not break through to bring its cold to that family of bog wizards and witches. Finally, its anger spent on the unbreakable shield, the wind swept further through the forest, blowing across those who could not ward off its fury. It blew through the forest, over the dark moors and onto an open plain, across which it howled menacingly. The few inhabitants of that empty waste shivered as they curled up against the cold.

Past the plain the wind blew, and reached the rolling hills, just beginning to gather frost from the cold of late fall. Across these too it blew, to the mountains just as the sun began to peek up over the peaks of the tallest of them. This wind swept into the vales and crags of the highlands, finding a small cave in the mountainside into which it flowed immediately. The narrow cave had its twists and turnings, but that would not deter the wind from shrieking along its surprising length, finally coming to a large cavern hollowed from the rock around.

Inside, a score or so of men huddled closer against the flame in the center of the cave. One of its inhabitants, a ragged young man with flaming red hair, snarled as a competitor strayed too close to his section of the fire. Thirteen years earlier, this man would have been sitting comfortably at home, protected from the cold and the damp by the shielding runes of his families' dwelling place. Now he was alone in this cave, with others bound to each other not by love or blood but only by that particular affliction that they all shared.

The man pushed by the redhead snarled back, his teeth bared. "Who made you king, Redfur? Did Threepaw die and make you Alpha?"

Redfur, who had once in his dimly remembered past gone by the name James Weasley, did not respond with words, but rather snapped his teeth threateningly at the older man.

The brown haired man known as Shortsnout growled back, but made no move to challenge Redfur for his place.

This scene replayed itself over and over again all among these miserable people as they reaffirmed the pecking order constantly. Across the fire from Redfur, a pair of men fell to the ground, scratching and biting each other as the interested spectators watched on. This scuffle only ended when the shorter of the two, a man named Greyback, ended up kneeling over the other with his bared teeth a mere few inches above his opponents neck. He did not bother to wait for the taller man to yield, but stood up, kicked the weaker man in the side, and sat back at his place at the fire.

This was a gathering of those most unfortunate of creatures, those who are neither man nor beast but an unholy mixture of the two. Unlike the lovely mermaids, the proud centaurs, or even the lowly house elves, these were no respectable race of man. No, these were werewolves, despised, hated and feared by all who saw them. The curse of Lycanthropy, and a terrible curse it is, leads to the death or exile of all of those who suffer from it. Throughout the British Isles and the rest of the Wizarding World were many packs such as this, groups of werewolves banded together for convenience and protection. What set this particular group apart, other than the fact that there were no female werewolves in their midst, was their goals.

This pack neither sought to merely hide from the human race nor to build its own settlement, as most packs ended up doing. These werewolves, on the contrary, sought revenge for the harms done to them and to those with the same affliction. These sought to show wizards and witches what it was to be inflicted with their curse, or to watch a loved one become a werewolf. Redfur himself was one such object lesson, a Weasley thrown from the bosom of his family when he was bitten by a werewolf at the age of nineteen. After his affliction, he did not turn his hatred upon his afflicters, but rather to the family which had betrayed him and exiled him.

This may have been unreasonable, as no family had much of a choice in those days when dealing with werewolves, but it surely was understandable. This was the real curse of Lycanthropy—not the monthly changes and unfeeling ferocity, but the tearing apart of family and the hatred and fear it engenders.

But Redfur was not pondering these things at the moment, or much of anything in particular other than keeping close to the fire and wishing for his next meal. One very unfortunate result of becoming a werewolf was the irresistible urge for fresh meat and revulsion from any vegetable or herb in the forest. Coupled with the distinctive scent of a werewolf, which scared away most animals immediately, it was quite difficult for most werewolves to ever get a good meal, even by their low standards.

Redfur himself had brought down a deer a few days before, but being eaten by the entire pack quickly took all the meat off even the fattest deer's bones. Unless one of the three werewolves who had yet to return to the cave came with food, Redfur knew he would have to venture out into the cold dark night to find something to eat, even if it were merely vegetables and some mushroom dug out of the ground by his grimy hands.

Still thinking of food, his attention was drawn to the cavern's entrance as he nosed the air. There was the dim scent of meat coming through the opening, tantalizing him, and all the other werewolves, with the promise of food. Indeed, shortly after he scented the meat, the three missing members of the pack walked through the opening to the cavern.

Even in their human form, most werewolves hunched their shoulders and shuttled low to the ground, as if they were still in the form in which they spent a night each month. And so it was for two of the newcomers, their noses sniffing at the ground and their hands extended so they were nearly crawling on all fours. But the third did not act as normal werewolves did. He walked straight, his back unbowed. With each step he took came an ominous clunk as the limb whose missing foot gave him the name Threepaw touched the ground, the metal replacement striking the cavern floor strongly.

As he strode into the cave, the squabbles and fights stilled, all present turning to him and his two followers, and the fat deer they bore on their shoulders. The cave suddenly filled with hungry growls and snarls, its inhabitants springing up and moving for the much desired meat. At Threepaw's snarl, however, the eighteen werewolves advancing on the meat stopped immediately.

"Sit down now! I will let you come up when I wish, not when you do."

It was interesting, though not surprising, that a Black became the Alpha of this pack. The unthinking arrogance, dueling skills both in magical and non-magical fields, and their unmatched ruthlessness suited them well to leadership, especially in such a pack as this. Of course, Threepaw no longer had the unmatched monetary and armed might of the Blacks behind him, but the name itself carried a power all its own.

Redfur watched as the dangerous man directed the distribution of the deer, carefully restraining his impulse to grab Threepaw's throat with his teeth when he was given the smallest and least nutritious part of the animal. As one of the few members of the pack from outside the center of the Wizarding World, one who did not feel immediate terror at the sight of a Black, he was hated and possibly even feared by Threepaw.

Threepaw probably would have had Redfur killed long before had the blood of the werewolf who attempted that first not demonstrated conspicuously the effectiveness of hunting spells in other circumstances, as well as Redfur's awe-inspiring situational awareness. As it was, Threepaw just watched him very closely and constantly tried to weaken him and force him out of the pack. If Redfur was not the foremost hunter in the pack, with the hunting spells his father had taught him, Redfur would have directly thrown him out, but even he had some limits when it came to dealing with his pack, one of which was that he couldn't curtail their supply of food, at least directly. Instead, he tried to make Redfur leave of his own accord.

Redfur's musings were interrupted as Threepaw, finished with his choice piece of deer, stood. He growled loudly for attention and all eyes went to him.

"My fellow werewolves," he began, rather pompously to Redfur's eyes. Sometimes he liked to show off his superior education and intelligence to the other werewolves. "We are an oppressed minority, wrongly persecuted for an affliction we neither wanted nor deserved. The time has come for us to reclaim our rightful place in society."

Redfur waited for anyone else to make the obvious objection to Redfur's statement, but it seemed the other werewolves had no particular intelligence; a fact which he had long since realized but often wished was false. He growled deep in his throat and shouted up at the arrogant werewolf standing in front of him. "How the hell are we supposed to do that? I suppose you think that people will suddenly get it in their heads to say 'Oh yeah, werewolves aren't all that bad. Let's let them back into society!' Are you really that stupid?"

Threepaw grinned, a feral expression that looked out of place on his aristocratic features. "My dear Redfur, surely you don't think I don't have a plan? Oh, you are even less intelligent than I thought. But what else could one expect from a Mudblood?" The other werewolves laughed at that, even though Redfur was sure that most of them were less pureblood than he himself.

He ignored the comment on the purity of his blood, and snarled back. "So, what is this brilliant plan you thought of? How much of it is yours and how much did Thickskull over there come up with? I've heard that incest decreases the child's brains. Obviously that was true in your case."

Threepaw's lips tightened and he had a murderous expression on his face. So Redfur had gotten through to a sore spot, had he? Good. But the aristocrat's response startled him.

"Oh don't worry, my friend. I have a very good plan. I will freely admit that I received some advice, though not from a dimwitted half-blood like him. If you dislike the idea of returning to society so much, though, I can always refrain from explaining my plan. Would you prefer that?"

Redfur shook his head despite himself. For all that he hated the aristocrat who thought himself so much better than his fellow werewolves, he had to admit that Threepaw did occasionally show some intelligence.

Threepaw displayed his feral grin again. "I received a spot of advice from a friend of mine I still keep in contact with, a member of another magical race which is often despised by those of the pure human race. He mentioned the fact that it would be very hard to keep the regulations against those of our type in place if the children of the powerful were werewolves themselves."

Redfur blinked at that. He, being from a family living in the moors, did not know all too much about the real Wizarding World, but it did seem reasonable. But..."Why wouldn't they just disown their children, like yours did you?"

"Well, Redfur, I'm very glad you asked. The solution to that tricky problem is to target Light families," he coupled that last with a mighty sneer, "who are likely to keep their children. Rather than throwing them out, they'll try to make the lives of the young werewolves better in society, and in so doing help us as well. My friend and I made up a short list of families which may fit that description."

Redfur took the proffered paper, a fine parchment written in a hand no werewolf ever born could match. On it were written a list of names, of families with some power who were likely to keep their sons and daughters even if turned to Lycanthropy. Redfur's attention was immediately drawn to a name at the bottom of the paper.

He held his tongue, much though he wished to speak. From his own experience, he knew that even the Lightest of families would not accept a werewolf in their midst. However, still angered by his rejection by his family, he wanted others to suffer the same as he did. Thus, he merely handed back the parchment with an assenting grunt.

Greyback, the most powerful and strongest of the werewolves present, though certainly far from the smartest, gaped blankly at his two fellows. "What are you talking about? Do we have someone we can attack?"

Of course the other werewolves wouldn't understand Threepaw's plan. Most of them had been turned at a very young age or even born to Lycanthropy. Greyback especially, the product of one of the oldest of lines of werewolves, understood almost nothing of wizarding politics. He seemed more wolf than man most of the time, even when not in his wolf form.

Oneear and Greenleg, the other two werewolves of the pack who had been turned near adulthood, were the only two with the remotest chance of understanding Threepaw's idea, and neither were the smartest of the pack by any measure.

Threepaw began explaining the plan to the other werewolves, careful to use the simplest of terms, while Redfur sat silently contemplating. His attention was still on the last name on the list. It was just a simple word, "Weasley." He had been thrown out of that home years before, no longer welcome among his siblings and cousins. Why then, did he still feel a pang of grief when he thought of the name and of the home he once had?

And why, rather than rejoicing as he should, did he feel scared when he saw that Threepaw intended to make one of the Weasleys a werewolf?

No, it was not fright he was feeling, it was anticipation. Yes, that was it, Redfur desperately tried to convince himself. He was feeling excited that he would be able to inflict the same pain he felt on another of his former family. That must be it, for he no longer considered himself a Weasley. He was a werewolf now, a respected member of Threepaw's pack. Not a Weasley.

In fact, Redfur thought, convincing himself more successfully now, he would try to get himself placed in the group that turned the Weasleys when they made their move. That way his father would know that it was he, the one they had rejected thirteen years before, who once again made them suffer. Another of the Weasleys would suffer just as he had been made to suffer.

And thus history is made, in the slightest of thoughts and the simplest of plans. As Redfur continued to mislead himself on his own feelings, and as Threepaw continued to plot, so did others throughout the Wizarding World continue to scheme. These schemes would come to a head on a winter's night a few months later, a night which all at one time overthrew the established order of the world.

Of course, this particular plot, as with many others, was intended to fail. It was not intended to fail by its originator, of course, and nor would it fail in the manner that Redfur felt it would. Rather, it would fail in a manner that the manipulators in the background felt would be most beneficial. Unlike the other players in that Great Game of plots and schemes, these manipulators did not have in mind as a goal any ordinary short term power or advantage. No, these manipulators, who cleverly inspired carefully chosen plots amongst others, intended for the greatest of prizes, the control of the Wizarding World. And they did not intend to gain it through constructive means, but rather through the application of chaos. This chaos would quickly spread to rule all in but a few short months. But for now, the plots advanced apace, and their originators felt quite secure in their own power and the success of their own plans.


	5. Captain Lupin's Men

**Okay, sorry for the delay, but our last football game of the season was Friday, and Coach was working us extra hard. Add homework to that, and it brews a pretty miserable week.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy. Please read and review.**

**In fact, even if you hate it, please drop a message to tell me why. I really want to improve, and if I'm doing something you don't like, tell me what it is.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything whatsoever of J. K. Rowlings.**

Fall days began to give way to winter, and the year's first snows lay on the ground in front of Black Mansion before the Baron Black began to notice the tense situation. In fact, it was no the Baron himself who first noticed anything awry, nor any of his servants, but an anonymous correspondent whose owl dropped off a parchment bearing only the words "check the Greengrass Estate."

The Baron, a notoriously prideful man, normally would not obey instructions from strangers, especially those who did not bother with meeting him in person. However, this particular owl had arrived with a fine set of goblin-made silver as well, a dining set with endurance runes carved into each piece. The Baron felt no reason to ignore the wishes of such a generous man, especially as it would take no effort or resources at all to do so.

So it was that a scout passed over Greengrass Estate on one of the Black carpets, with shielding and concealment charms interwoven into the fabric. He would have used a thestral but for the fact that, unlike most British families, the Malfoy household had seen war before. There was sure to be at least one man on the towers of Greengrass Manor, just as with all of the Malfoy estates, who had seen death and thus could perceive the winged horses. In fact, the Malfoys were the only powerful Family in Britain besides the Blacks who regularly used thestrals. However, unlike the Malfoys, few of the Blacks had seen death in combat, and thus they instead ensured that they would see thestrals by using a Muggle or two whose deaths would not be noticed.

When Marcus Paricatti, an Italian exile taken in by the Baron's father, saw the fifty or more scaled and winged horses hidden in a pen a few miles from the Greengrass Estate, her recognized at once what it meant. Thestrals were notoriously hot-tempered, and the most thestrals that would tolerate being together for long, was a herd of seven or eight. The only reason a Lord worth his salt, a thing that upstart Malfoy certainly was, would have fifty thestrals in one place would be to use in an attack, and one relatively soon at that.

The Baron, for all that his arrogance could sometimes lead him to overconfidence and mistakes, was not an unintelligent man. When Marcus returned with the news, his cloak singed from an encounter with a particularly nasty defensive ward, Black understood Malfoy's game at once or at least thought he did. Therefore, he began calling up vassals himself, assembling a smaller group of thirty thestrals on Raingenhead Manor, and setting a watch on the borders of all his properties.

Black did not think that the Malfoys had any overly ambitious plans, such as to directly threaten High House Black's position at the seat of power. Knowing the Malfoy, he probably intended to scare him a bit and get some concessions, without having to bind his niece in marriage. However, Blacks do not scare easily. Determined to forcibly bind the Malfoys to him before long, he ordered a watch set on the Malfoy girls, lest she manage to escape and avoid marriage to his son. In addition, he sent an owl to his contact in the Office of Magical Contracts and Oaths, ordering him to quietly strengthen the magical bindings in the document. As a sponsor of the marriage, Malfoy, upon the consummation of the marriage, would be bound to refrain from harming Black, just as Black would be unable to harm Malfoy.

If Malfoy's attack came before the marriage took place, Black would merely repulse it with ease, and then force the marriage upon the weakened Malfoys. If not, then Malfoy would be unable to even begin the attack. Once the fool who thought he could best a Black had his niece marry the Baron's son, the Blacks' troubles would be over. In fact, he could turn the suitably chastened Malfoy against an enemy, perhaps the Porpingtons or the Ravencrofts. Obviously Malfoy was not cowed by a High House's power, so he would likely jump at the chance to improve his power by attacking another, even if it would increase the Baron's power at the same time.

All the Baron had to do would be to prevent the Malfoy girl from escaping from his grasp, and this new plan would work out brilliantly. In addition, he would receive a large amount of the Malfoy wealth from the marriage, if all the other advantages he would receive weren't' enough. The girl's father, Simone, had inherited over three million gallons worth of property, and nearly five hundred thousand gallons of that was inherited by the girl. It was not proper, the money going to a girl instead of the next male heir as was custom, but it didn't matter in this case. Black would be happy to rectify the mistake by taking the money himself and using it to accomplish his own ends.

These happy thoughts in his mind, Baron Black set his newly arrived vassals to defending his property, with several at hand at all times as a reserve mounted on thestrals, and more as sentries set around the edges of Raingenhead Manor's limits, as well as his other properties just in case. His vassal's retainers grumbled but followed orders; while their masters, the Baron's vassals, set down to enjoy a fine meal inside the Black Mansion. The retainers were in no mood to be out in the cold and wet, and thus, in the manner of soldiers and laborers of all times and places, set to trying to be as comfortable as they possibly could. They certainly had no particular desire to search the interior of the Estate, and as they had no orders to do so, they just walked straight to the limits of the Estate, hoping to set up tents or some other protection from the wind and cold.

Inside the Estate, a small group of bedraggled, soaking wet breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. One of their number, a broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair and a short beard, laughed quietly.

"Of course the Blacks wouldn't think to check their own Estate," he said scathingly. "They're so arrogant sometimes, it's hilarious. I don't know why we were worrying about them finding us."

"Watch it, Collins. Don't fall to that same curse yourself," responded another man, obviously the leader of the group, an imposing man wearing brown robes with a grey wolf on the front. "Anyway, what we really need to think about is why they suddenly decided to close the grounds, even if it was barely competently."

The short man opposite him, a man with the brown complexion of a Spaniard and a slight accent to go with it, suddenly looked thoughtful. "You're right, Captain. What do you think tipped them off? They obviously think we're not here yet, but it still is worrisome."

"Does it matter, Fred? They won't catch us anyway, so why do you care why they thought to post pickets?" Another of the group asked, curiously.

"It's Federico, not Fred, Billy." The Spaniard responded acidly. "And are you so daft to not realize that Lord Fuller is going to try to reinforce us with more men in a few days? What do you think will happen to them?"

Many of the group looked worried at that, but the Captain just smiled sadistically. "Oh, don't worry about that, I've got a plan."

Collins groaned. "Let me guess, Captain. It's going to involve digging a tunnel all the way to Fuller Manor? Or building a fireplace from scratch to link to the Floo network?"

Captain Lupin smiled, baring his teeth unconsciously like the grey wolf that was the symbol of his family. "Good guess Collins. I was thinking about the second one, but maybe you'd enjoy digging a tunnel more. With your skill at Charms, I'm sure it would be easy."

The others laughed as Collins groaned again. His weakness in Charms was well known among the household guards of the Porpington family and their vassals, and he was often ribbed for it by his mates.

"Go easy on him, Captain," another of the ambush party laughed. "You never know. He might lose his marbles all of a sudden and try to make you fly, or maybe cast a tripping jinx when you're not looking. Charms can be scary when they're used well."

"Shut up, Tom, or I'll turn you into a teacup." Collins brandished his wand at the Scot. "At least I have some skill at Transfiguration. Charms are useless, anyway."

Captain Lupin laughed, but stopped the argument before one of them sprouted wings or broke out into boils. "Cool it, lads. We need to get working. Don't worry, Collins," he added as the youngest man in the party looked about to complain. "We're not going to be digging a tunnel. We'll just build a fireplace to Floo from. Sir Nicholas was ready for something like this to happen, so I've got Floo powder and the authorization to add a fireplace to the Porpington Floo network. But first, we've got to make it."

Tom Armstrong, the Scottish Borderer who had made fun of Collins for his weakness in Charms, nodded and cast a weak lifting Charm on the bricks Captain Lupin had made them drag all the way to Raingenhead Manor. They had used a Portkey to arrive just outside the Estate's outer limits, but could not arrive directly at their destination because of the defensive wards on the Estate. Thus, they had been forced to spend nearly a whole day dragging all of their equipment to their campsite, of which the bricks had composed a large part.

Meanwhile, Joe Collins, who for all of his weakness in Charms was quite accomplished in Transfiguration, began turning the brush around the intended site of the fireplace into marbles, which they could push away. Transfiguration was not long lasting enough to use for the fireplace itself, but it could be quite useful in making things easier to handle, at least for short times.

Billy Peters, a young man from just outside London, began setting up the runes and wards around the site to receive a Floo. He, despite his age, was one of the best warders of the Porpington Guard, so it was no surprise he had been assigned to the ambush party. Captain Lupin was very glad it was so, for setting up a Floo connection in the field, especially on such a temporary structure, was no easy task, and for most would be quite impossible.

The rest of the party also pitched in, acting with a will now that they had something to do besides waiting in the cold. Besides, there was some protection offered against the rain to shield Billy's runes, so when they were building the fireplace they could keep dry. None of them had enough power to shield the entire campsite, but keeping the runes in the dirt from getting wet was crucial, lest the runes be smeared and some unimaginable catastrophe happens.

Despite the grumbling all soldiers offer in the field, these were professionals. Although the Ministry did not allow private armies for any Houses, even the High Houses, they were allowed household guards to protect their interests, and the Porpington's was more of an army than most. Those such as the Blacks were pretty much still feudal forces, retainers taken from their work in the fields and forced to serve the Blacks in some capacity or another. But for the Porpingtons, every man in the guard was a volunteer and set to with a will.

Captain Lupin smiled to himself as he watched them work. He had been ecstatic when he had first been chosen to be the Guard Captain for the Porpingtons, and he still felt a little surge of happiness when he considered his men. His men, by God! Sure, they had some rough edges, and he often felt like he was leading little children, not grown men, but they were his, and he was their leader. The responsibility sometimes scared him a little, especially now, so close to the possibility of real battle. This would not be the first time the Captain had been in battle, but this would be the first time while in the service of the Porpingtons, and certainly the first time while he had men he was responsible for.

The Captain had been sent to the Continent to get his education in war as a young man, just as all of the Lupins had been for time immemorial. In fact, he thought that there had once been a few Lupins in service to the Malfoys, a very, very long time before. But now, of course, the Lupins refused to be under the command of any wizard. Instead, he had served as an enlisted man in the service of a Muggle king, learning his trade from them. He had not served with the guns or the muskets of the army, of course, for his magic interfered much with the use of gunpowder in battle. Rather, he served with the pikes, that often neglected yet indispensible arm of every Muggle military.

Most households would have rejected that experience out of hand, and even thought less of him for bothering with Muggles and even taking their orders, but not so the Porpingtons. Rather, Sir Nicholas had been delighted that he had obtained the services of a real soldier, even if the man did refuse to take an oath of fealty. Captain Lupin had quickly gained the trust of the Porpington Lord, and rose in the ranks. Now, he had been given command of the entire Porpington Guard and was eager to prove himself and his conception of battle to his mentor.

Most wizarding households, even now in the middle of the sixteenth century, relied overmuch on old fashioned cavalry tactics. He supposed that with the advantages thestrals had once provided to every household, it was not unreasonable, especially considering the inexperience all of Wizarding Britain had in real war. However, those advantages had long since vanished with the evolution of improved spells, and the ability to fly did not overcome that. Because of the inexperience of most British Wizards, thestrals still gave an advantage to the Blacks and Malfoys since they couldn't be seen, but Captain Lupin had carefully chosen his men.

Each had seen death before and most of those had seen it in battle. The only exception was young Billy Peters, who had watched his father die to a mislaid rune when he was only fifteen. That experience had spurred him to learning the warder's trade with almost frightening ferocity, but the skill thus gained made up for the fact that he was the most inexperienced dueler and fighter in the group, even though Joe Collins was actually younger. Anyway, the Captain had no intention of allowing the most valuable wizard of his ambush party get into any real danger, so the inexperience was doubly moot.

Every one of his party could see thestrals, so the surprise that their opponents may have hoped to gain by using the beasts was quite easily countered. And, as Captain Lupin had learned to his chagrin during a Continental skirmish, having an ambush turned was often even worse than being the recipient of the ambush. The Captain hoped that the Blacks and Malfoys would be very surprised that the Porpington party could see the thestrals.

In addition, every man of the raiding party was the best in his chosen specialty, and, all joking and ribbing aside, better than average at other skills. Collins was an exception due to his absolute utter incompetence at Charms, but he was far better at Transfiguration _and_ Illusions than most, so it didn't truly matter all that much.

With most of the advantages of the old fashioned cavalry charges taken away from his opponents, they would surely be utterly surprised when the raiding party attacked them from foot. Of course, Murphy's Law, "anything that can go wrong will go wrong," and the second law of battle, "your battle plan will be messed up as soon as get into contact with the enemy, that's why he's called the enemy," cautioned him that he should be ready for anything, just in case. Captain Lupin grinned inwardly at his own recounting of the second law of battle. Even in his thoughts, he edited out the profanity of the original. Apparently his mother's lessons against swearing had taken more firmly than he had thought.

Reassured by the happy nature of his thoughts, the Captain turned back to the work before him. The ground had been cleared quite well, and the men were beginning to stack bricks, as Joe Collins began using his Transfiguration to cut up planks of wood for the temporary walls of the structure. Wood fell apart quite easily when you turned the middle of it to a snake, even if only for a moment, and the fright it gave his comrades was pretty funny also. Captain Lupin was not sure exactly why the Floo network required a full fireplace surrounded by four walls and a roof to function, but he had found that although the fireplace itself had to be real brick and very sturdy, the walls around it need only be temporary.

Meanwhile, Federico de Mimsy, the Captain's second in command and a distant relation of the Lord Porpington himself, walked quietly up to him. The Spaniard was quite unnerving sometimes, given his brilliance and his uncanny habit of walking without so much as a snapping twig. Despite that, thought the Captain, he was quite interesting company and often made up for the immaturity of the rest of the raiding party. The Captain Lupin's last thought took on even more meaning as he watched Tom Armstrong turn Collins pink after the snake got a little too close. Besides him, the Spaniard gave a little chuckle.

"Ah, what it is to be so young."

"Come on, Fred, you know very well we're both not much younger than them. In fact, Tom is actually older than the both of us," Captain Lupin responded absently.

"It's Federico, Captain. And you must remember that youth is not of the body, but rather of the soul. Neither of us have young souls anymore, do we?"

Captain Lupin grimaced at the direction the conversation was taking. "No, Federico, I don't suppose we do, at that."

Federico, noticing his friend and superior officer's discomfort, changed the subject to another, one which they were both very familiar with, the development of new spells and potions. "Anyway, I don't suppose you've heard of what that charlatan Stalhøndske says he's done now?"

"Is he the one who says he's discovered eternal life? I didn't think the chap was Nordic."

"No, that's Flamel. I'm not sure if he's a fraud or not. I don't know him very well, but I've heard that he's quite honorable, and apparently very skilled at Alchemy. It isn't impossible that he has discovered something of the sort, or thought he has. Anyway, I'm talking about Hans Stalhøndske. He's a Swede who says that he's discovered a way to easily send messages. Not only that, but he says his method can repel Dementors! And he even has the gall to claim he can do it by only using emotions!" Federico looked appalled at the man's effrontery.

"That's impossible! Nothing can repel a Dementor, not even the Founders could. Merlin himself was the only one who was ever able to do so. And this Swede thinks he can do so?" Captain Lupin was almost as offended at the fact that it was a Swede who claimed something so bold rather than an Englishman as he was at the fact that this man had made such a ridiculous claim.

"Yes, Captain. He calls it a Patronus, I'm not sure why. Regardless of what he calls it, it's surely impossible."

"Maybe so, Fred, but can you imagine the implications if it actually could send messages so easily? We would be so much happier if we didn't have to spend the time building fireplaces to send messages."

"I suppose so. But powered by emotions! That can't be possible."

"Well, I don't know. When you're young you do accidental magic because of your emotions. Maybe this Hans chap has linked his idea to…"

And thus the two Porpington vassals wiled away the hours talking about various frauds and developments in the Wizarding World, while the Captain's men worked on building a connection which would link them from the Blacks' backyard to Porpington House. And even while they spoke, other manipulations continued to build, ones which would shortly shatter much of the world they knew so well.

The manipulations continued, as all sides in this confusing game of schemes, plots, and raids continued to act without true knowledge of the situation around them. And now, the stage was set, the players ready, and all it would take would be a single bell to signify the beginning of the play and the start of the largest performance in the Wizarding World of all time.


	6. Cassiopeia's Plan

**I hope you enjoy. First real chapter of action will probably be the next one after this. **

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Cassiopeia Malfoy was far from stupid. She had spent many an hour in high society, the balls and receptions of the upper crust of the Wizarding World. She knew how to pick apart the syntax of a sentence, find hidden meanings in the raise of an eyebrow or a slight emphasis on a word. She could tell a man's character from the cast of his face, and know his intentions from the set of his body.

Thus, when her Uncle had called her to his study to discuss her marriage to the Black brat, she had drawn definitive conclusions from the meeting, conclusions which were surely different from those which an unknowing observer could have drawn. The two Malfoys could have spoken freely without thought of eavesdroppers, of course, so secure was Malfoy manner. However, they did not do so for two reasons.

The first reason, the more important, was plausible deniability. If, for some reason, the Malfoy Lord's plans failed, then both Cassiopeia and her Uncle could truthfully say that she had been on her own. Lord Malfoy had in no way encouraged or aided Cassiopeia's actions, except perhaps unknowingly, and no fault lay with him. This may or may not have been believed, but, since it was at least partly true, it would still protect the Malfoy family from most consequences.

The second reason to talk so obliquely was to protect against Legilimency. The Malfoys and their servants were skilled at Occlumency, to be certain, and, Lord Malfoy especially, could plant a false memory in the path of a Legilimens if needed. However, giving a completely false memory to an accomplished Legilimens was difficult and could be detected. On the other hand, a true memory was easier to hold at the forefront of the brain without detection, and, lacking context, could easily deceive the Legilimens in the manner the defending Occlumens wished.

In short, the Malfoys were paranoid and overcautious. Despite the absolutely miniscule possibility of an eavesdropper being present, or of a Legilimens completely forcing his way past the shields of one of the Malfoys or their vassals, the Malfoys would still protect against the chance. The Malfoys took security took security to a ridiculous extent, even in the choice of servants. They owned no house elves lest they give information to the Malfoys' rivals, and nor did the Malfoys allow any servants into Malfoy Manor who had not been in the service of the Malfoys for at least two decades. This paranoia may have been ridiculed by others, but it was part and parcel of who the Malfoys were.

And, from the short conversation with her uncle, Cassiopeia had been given instructions and a time limit, instructions which no one would be able to interpret who was not a Malfoy themselves, or at least as devious as one. Lord Malfoy had as good as told her to escape from the house within three months of the meeting. Of course, being a Malfoy, Cassiopeia had not run off immediately like some stupid Gryffindork. No, she had planned, schemed plotted, with the help of her wandsman Jamie Ranky and her personal maid Elizabeth Smith.

The two of them were the closest things she had to real parents, as her mother had died in childbirth and her father had been killed in France when she was only five years old. Her two servants had raised her and taught her both proper decorum and the less savory arts of dueling and clandestinely cursing her opponents. They also were the only people she truly confided in, and she trusted them enough that she told them all about her plans to escape. She did not tell them that Lord Malfoy had given his tacit approval, of course, but they could assume that from the very fact that she was going to run away, and they were smart enough to figure it out from other clues regardless.

Of course, the three of them did not start making active preparations until at least three weeks after the meeting, ensuring an even greater distance between their plans and her Uncle. In fact, the only contact she made with the other Malfoys for help was an owl sent to her cousin Francis at Hogwarts. The letter the owl brought to the school was carefully worded to get her intention through to him without giving any incriminating evidence. The owl returned soon after with the book she requested, along with a seemingly innocent letter attached. Reading between the lines she could see that Francis was offering her good luck, and telling her how lucky she was that she would get out of marriage to the young Black.

From what Cassiopeia understood from the letter, it appeared that Sirius Cygnus Black, only son of Cygnus Orion Black, was an idiot and a bully whose only redeeming feature was his skill at the Dark Arts, a skill hardly to be welcomed by his future wife. Of course, Francis was nauseatingly flattering to the boy in his letter, congratulating her on '_an excellent catch, Cassie, excellent_,' but to the experienced eyes of a Malfoy, the letter clearly stated that her cousin hated his fellow Slytherin with a passion.

Oddly, reassured by the letter and doubly determined to escape the marriage contract, Cassiopeia redoubled her efforts. She had quickly realized that if she didn't want the Malfoys to be charged with oath-breaking and she forced back into the marriage, she could not hide anywhere in the Wizarding World at all. She had no doubt that the Blacks' reach had no bounds, and there was no one besides a Malfoy who would resist that pressure for her, especially since she was not of their blood.

And of course she could not stay with a Malfoy or one of their vassals. If she did, she would be less likely to be caught, to be sure, but that unfortunate possibility would prove disastrous to her family. Having a child run off to break a marriage contract was one thing, an event not unheard of in a world of arranged marriages, though few managed to successfully escape that fate. But if the Malfoys sheltered one of their own and hid her from a marriage contract that their own Head of House had approved, there would be consequences most dire.

Thus Cassiopeia found herself studying a book of Muggle Geography with Jamie and Elizabeth withdrawn from the library at Hogwarts by her cousin. Ostensibly, the book was for a lesson on Muggle history by her wandsman, an unlikely but not inconceivable reason. She had requested plenty of books from the Hogwarts library for similar lessons, though none about Muggles, during the years after her graduation, and no one could blame the young man who had gotten it for her for somehow not realizing that his four years older cousin was planning to disappear into the Muggle world. If she had taken the book out of the Malfoy's private library, her uncle would have to answer some very pointed questions, but this method of getting it would hopefully prevent that.

But before she could disappear, she had to pick a destination. This was how the three found themselves studying a book on a subject they quickly realized they knew next to nothing about. For all that they travelled all over Britain, wizards and witches really did not need to know the lay of the land around them, especially not the lairs of common Muggles.

"Cassie, you can't be goin' to that London place. It's too dang'rous among all those stinkin' Muggles," James said gruffly. "Ya won't have enough room to defend y'rself properly."

"Of course she can't!" Elizabeth looked horrified at the idea. "Look at how perfectly awful that place is," She pointed to a moving painting on the book, opposite to a map of Muggle London. The painting showed a London Muggle tossing something that looked suspiciously like feces out of a window and onto a passerby.

Cassiopeia stared at the picture with appalled curiosity and no small amount of horror. "What kind of creatures are these Muggles?" She cried.

"Ya can't have contempt f'r 'em, Cassie," Jamie warned. "Them're dangerous. You can pity 'em, but don't scorn them. They're like breedin' Nifflers. They c'n fight if'n they're cornered, even if they don't look it." He scratched absentmindedly at a scar on his chin as he did so, leading Cassiopeia to think that there might have been a story behind his warning.

"Don't worry, Cassie," interjected Elizabeth kindly, "Jamie's just exaggerating a little. They may be uncivilized brutes barely out of the muck, but they won't just kill you for nothing."

Jamie growled darkly. "They might try. All's I'm saying is keep your guard up, lass. I won't be around all times, and when I'm awa, ya have ta be able to protect y'rself."

"Are all Muggles like that?" Cassiopeia asked, contempt and repulsion coloring her voice despite her wandsman's warning. She pointed to a painting on another page, a horrifying one of Muggles laughing while a witch, recognizable by her pointed hat, burned at a post.

"Oh no, dearie," Elizabeth tried to reassure her mistress. "Some Muggle places are almost tolerable." She turned through the book, looking for an example of her point. It took her several minutes and two hundred pages before she found a painting that demonstrated her point. "See, Cassie? It's not all awful." She sounded slightly dubious herself as she said this, but still brightly pushed the page towards Cassiopeia.

Cassiopeia studied the painting carefully. This was a painting of a place in the countryside, a small town. It had a faint resemblance to Hogsmeade, the same rows of buildings and same thatched roofs. In the foreground, a tall rounded building stood, with what looked like four wooden planks a man's height wide and three men's length long attached to it. The planks rotated slowly around the top, though there was no cause or reason for it that Cassiopeia could see for the moment. At the bottom of the painting, several small figures were laughing and talking.

Cassiopeia was surprised. "This looks almost peaceful. Are you sure this is a Muggle place and not a Wizarding town?"

Jamie snorted. "Lemme guess, Lizzie. This'n was the only nice paintin' in the whole kit and caboodle?"

Elizabeth looked slightly sheepish as she replied. "It's not the _only_ nice picture, just one of the few. Anyway, they're all of the same place, some town called Avonford. I think the artist of the pictures lived there."

"And what's that weird turning thing?" asked Cassiopeia curiously.

Elizabeth peered nearsightedly at the text as she answered. "I think it's called a mindwill. The book isn't very specific."

"A mindwill?" Cassieopeia asked, "Is it powered by the Muggles' minds or something?"

"Nah, lassie, Muggles couldna do that. I'm thinkin' the heathen buggers worship it or summat like that." Jamie looked amused at the thought, a rare smile breaking through his rough-hewn features.

"It doesn't say what it does," Elizabeth replied. "You might well be right, Jamie. Anyway, this place doesn't look all too awful for Cassie."

Cassiopeia thought about it for a little while. "This place looks fine, I suppose. It is probably the best we're likely to get, anyway. How are we going to get there, then?"

"First off, I won't be going with you two." Elizabeth cut off Cassiopeia as she was about to object. "No, Cassie, I'd just slow you down. I'm not as spry as I once was, as you know full well." Cassiopeia suppressed a slight smile as her handmaiden exaggerated her limp walking around the room. "Anyway, you'll need a way to keep in contact with the Wizarding World while you're away. We'll Charm a piece of parchment to keep in touch."

Cassiopeia objected, though she was sure her maid would not change her mind once it was made up. "But what if you are caught corresponding with me? My Uncle will be forced to let you go and you'll have nowhere to go."

"Don't worry about me, darling. I'll make out all right," reassured Elizabeth calmly. She smiled at the girl she thought of as a daughter. "The important thing is that you get out to this Avonford place all safe and sound."

Jamie responded to this. "We can't use thestrals. The bleedin' Blacks make sure they all c'n see 'em. If'n they can't see a body die in battle, they jist go an' kill a Muggle."

Cassiopeia felt a slight stirring of repulsion at this information. She knew full well the horrors of war, of course, and she did not have any particular fondness for the awful Muggles. But still, going out and killing a defenseless creature just to be able to see thestrals? She supposed it was something like hunting bowtruckles, creatures which had no fear and would attack on sight. Still, for all her Malfoy disdain of honor, she still had a code, even if only subconsciously, and that certainly did not fulfill it in the least.

Jamie looked disgusted at this as well. "Aye, lass. Them Blacks're a bad lot. That's why yer better off scarpering. But don't feel too sorry fer the Muggles. Like as not they didn't even ken they were dead, the dumb animals."

"Still, that's awful," cried Elizabeth. "Poor Muggles, had no idea of what was happening. I'm glad you're not going to become a Black, dear."

Cassiopeia agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. "So, how will we escape if not on thestralback? Any pickets will have set up wards against Disillusionment Charms, and we can't use Uncle's Invisibility Cloak or we'll draw attention to him. If we try to get out on a carpet, we'll be stopped before we get a mile past the property limits."

Jamie nodded in approval of his charge's reasoning. "Good thinkin', lass. Luck'ly, though, yer fergettin' two things. The first'n is they'll be lookin fer to keep you alive for the marriage. If'n they kill you, it'll look mighty bad on them. Second thing is we have the inishiative…the iniciationive…I dunno how to say it."

"Initiative?" Cassie asked. Jamie was well educated in the arts of war, but, due to his lack of skill at reading, often forgot the names of higher principles of war. Still, he seemed to understand the principles almost instinctively and never forgot the concepts, due to his long and hard-won experience in the service of the Malfoys.

"Thass the one, initiative. We'll have the initiative, and they'll haveta react to us. We c'n choose where we'll break out an' we can distract them a little."

"How will we accomplish that?" Cassiopeia, for all that she was a lady, not a lord, was always interested in understanding the arts of war. Unlike the Blacks, the Malfoys encouraged their women to achieve as much learning as possible, on the theory that it gave them an advantage in the arts of ballroom scheming as well. Cassiopeia could not attest yay or nay to that theory, having rarely been forced to attend formal events, since she was a mere heir tertiary, and an unlikely one to inherit at that. Still, she was glad of that instruction now, to prepare for the dangerous times ahead.

"Well, lassie, this is what we'll do…"

Thus, Jamie, Elizabeth and their young charge Cassiopeia proceeded to plot the escape of Cassiopeia from her marriage. Meanwhile, forces were moving across the Wizarding World that would draw them inexorably into a cataclysm.

That same night, on another manor far away, men patrolled the grounds while their enemies sat safe inside the boundaries of the manor. Inside, a minor vassal lay on his bed, pondering when the Malfoys would attack, yet unknowing of the other set of enemies already inside his perimeter.

On yet another estate, men prepared themselves for the inevitable clash of battle, grooming and soothing their thestrals and girding their thoughts for the confrontation still a few days away. They would fly soon, and show the Blacks that some snakes were more cunning than others.

In a dark cave in the middle of the Highlands, more men sat, brooding over their horrible fate. One of them, however, brooded on the unfairness of life but how to extend that unfairness upon others. Another in that cave thought on family and the meanings of blood.

Farther yet, in a dark and beautiful castle, students slept peacefully, unknowing of the conflagration that was soon to be thrust upon them. Some few knew a little of the events to come, but none knew the whole, and none knew the fate they themselves would play in the affairs that would shape the Wizarding World.

And, in a small Muggle town called Avonford, people slept peacefully. None of them could know, nor even dream, of the events that would soon thrust their small town into the center of a war, a war of people foreign to themselves, people who had powers and abilities they never could imagine. This night, and a few more, they would sleep peacefully, but afterwards, there would be no few sleepless nights.

And behind it all sat the ultimate manipulators, busily plotting and planning their rise to power. Soon, they thought, soon they would be the rulers of the Wizarding World, able to take revenge on all those who had persecuted and scorned them. Soon…soon.

But none of these, neither those who knew the most nor those who knew nothing, none could anticipate the events to come, none could even imagine the dark times that would soon engulf an entire people. Soon, the wave would come crashing down, engulfing all of the Wizarding World in the crash and thunder of wailing water. Soon, the dams would break and a wall of water would swallow the lives of innocent wizards and witches, leaving a scar that would last in the minds of the Wizarding World for years to come. Soon…soon.


End file.
